


the storm is nothing (you are everything)

by squadrickchestopher



Series: Filthy Porn Fridays [14]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Biting, Drowning, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, loosely based off it anyway, siren!Bucky, thief!Clint, which probably makes Clint a rogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29144679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: Eight years old and full of fire, Clint had dismissed the words at the time. But now, twenty years later, he thinks she might’ve had a point. He does surround himself with trouble.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Filthy Porn Fridays [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860367
Comments: 10
Kudos: 125
Collections: Clintucky Fried Bunnies, Winterhawk Bingo Round Two





	the storm is nothing (you are everything)

**Author's Note:**

> TW for a near-drowning incident at the start
> 
> Unbeta'ed, mistakes are mine and I'm too tired to fix them
> 
> WHB Fill: B2, mermaid AU. He's not technically a mermaid, but again fuck it, I am too tired.

Clint doesn’t remember much of his parents. They’d died when he was young, and he’d spent most of his childhood avoiding his drunken father—which subsequently meant avoiding his mother as well. Still, some things are clear. He remembers her smile, on the rare occasions he saw it. He remembers the gentle touch of her hand on his forehead when putting him to bed, the press of her lips on his cheek.

He also vividly remembers sitting at the table, watching her tend to his wounded arm. The flickering firelight had made it hard to see, but she’d done her best, cleaning out a knife gouge with gentle, practiced fingers.

“You keep surrounding yourself with trouble, my love,” she’d murmured to him, voice low. “It’s going to end badly for you one day.”

“I can handle myself,” he’d said back. “I’m tough.”

“You are,” she’d agreed, and wrapped his arm before kissing his forehead. “But you’re smart, too. Maybe you should learn to think first, instead of acting on your impulses.”

Eight years old and full of fire, Clint had dismissed the words at the time. But now, twenty years later, he thinks she might’ve had a point. He _does_ surround himself with trouble.

Literally, this time. There’s a cliff edge at his back, and he can hear the raging sea below him as it pounds furiously against the rocks. Above him is a slowly blackening sky, the promise of a storm heavy in the air.

The most troublesome thing is what’s in front of him, though. Five people, all heavily armed and looking very, _very_ annoyed.

“You will come with us,” the leader says.

“I will not.”

“You have nowhere else to go.”

That’s true, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna admit it. “There’s always a way out.”

“Not this time. Not for you.”

“You stole our property,” another accuses, and Clint snorts.

“Maybe,” he says, “but considering you stole them in the first place, I think I’m in the right.”

“They were _our_ creatures—”

“Kidnapping something does not make it yours,” Clint counters, backing up as they advance. His foot slips on the rocks, making him stumble. “I was just making things right.”

The woman starts to protest, but the leader holds up a hand, silencing her with a look. “Barton,” he says, turning to Clint. “Be reasonable. What else are you going to do, jump? You won’t survive that fall.”

“I like how concerned you are, considering you’re threatening me with swords.”

He laughs. It’s not friendly. “We’re not going to _kill_ you, Barton.”

“Funnily enough, that doesn’t make me feel better.” Clint grips his own dagger. “What, you gonna buy me a drink? Bring me into your little group? I doubt that.”

“You’ll never be one of us,” the woman spits, brushing her hair out of her face as the wind picks up.

“I don’t _want_ to be one of you,” Clint points out. “Was there anything about my actions that gave you that idea? You guys steal creatures from their homes and sell them for _profit_ , you’re all a bunch of—“

The leader steps forward. “Barton,” he says again. “Come with us. I promise we won’t kill you.”

“We’re just gonna hurt ya a little,” grunts one of the other ones, and the leader snaps his head around to glare at him.

Clint laughs. “Oh yeah, that’s a great way to get me to come. _Don’t worry, Barton, we’re not gonna kill you. We’re just gonna torture you.”_

“I’m sure we can come to an arrangement,” the leader says. “We just want our property back. That’s all.”

“Too late,” Clint says. “I got them somewhere safe, and I’m not telling you where. I don’t give a shit what you do to me.”

“You’ll tell us,” the leader says, and the easy confidence in his voice scares Clint more than the sword.

He glances up at the sky, grimacing at the storm. The leader is right. He’s limited on options. He can try and fight his way out, which probably won’t end well for him. He can go with them, which definitely won’t end well for him.

Or he can jump off this cliff. Not that _that’s_ going to end well either, but he’s at least cliff-dived before, and at this point, he’d rather take his chances with the sea.

He chances a glance over the edge of the cliff, wincing at the drop. _How the hell do you keep getting yourself into these situations?_

“Barton,” the leader says, suddenly sounding concerned. “Come on. It’s not worth it.”

“You’re not giving me a whole lot of choice,” Clint mutters, but he takes a couple steps towards them. He’ll need a running start if he’s gonna avoid the rocks.

He touches the quiver strapped to his back, making sure it’s secure, then tucks the dagger back into his belt. “Yeah,” he says, putting his hands up. “Okay. Sure.”

“Good boy,” the leader says, all grim smiles, and Clint moves a little closer, trying to prepare himself.

The closest member of the group reaches for him, and Clint grits his teeth. Just before the guy’s hand closes over his, he twists away, spinning on his heels.

“Get him!” someone yells, but Clint’s got a clear path and a stupid idea, and there’s no stopping him now.

 _Guess my mother was right,_ he thinks, and hurls himself from the edge of the cliff. There’s a moment of freedom, of flying, of weightlessness.

Then he drops like a stone, an involuntary scream ripping from his throat as he tumbles through the air with an undignified flailing of limbs. At the last second, he remembers to tuck his arms in, and get his feet under him.

The water is _cold._ Horribly, horribly cold. Cold enough to make him scream more, which just ends up making him choke on water. He manages to haul himself up to the surface, spitting and coughing, just in time for a wave to slam into him, bringing him back down.

He fights his way back up and gasps in a desperate breath. He missed the rocks, which is good, but there’s a current dragging at his legs, pulling him further out to sea. Clint struggles against it, furiously kicking. He’s a decent swimmer, but his talents don’t extend to storm-raging seas, and there’s a veil of panic in his mind that’s threatening to overtake him.

 _Stay calm,_ he orders himself. _You can do this._

Except staying calm is easier said than done. The waves are huge, dark and terrifying, and it’s all he can do to keep himself afloat as the current keeps dragging him further out, away from dry land.

 _Help me,_ he thinks in a half-delirious prayer. But he doesn’t know who’s listening, or at this point, if any of the gods would even care about him. Another wave slams him under, tossing him around with ease. Clint tucks up and covers his head, holding his breath and praying anyway.

He surfaces again, gasping for air. The shore is further now, and the cold is burrowing into his bones, making it hard to think. “Fuck,” he wheezes, and tries to swim, forcing his heavy arms to move. It doesn’t get him far. He manages a couple desperate strokes that way, but then another wave hits him, dragging him back under.

 _Always a way out,_ some part of his mind screams at him, but he can’t this time, he _can’t._ He’s not strong enough to take on the whole ocean, not when it’s like this, not when it’s determined to drag him down into the depths and drown him.

“Help!” he screams as he comes back up, mindlessly thrashing. There’s no room for calm thinking anymore. There’s just panic, sheer animal terror flooding him as he frantically tries to do something, _anything_ —

Something slams into him. Not water, not a wave—this is solid, and _fast_. It knocks out what little air is left in his lungs as it shoves him backwards through the water, moving through the waves with ease. Clint struggles, but whatever it is, it’s got a good grip on him, and he can’t do anything about it. He ends up just going limp, letting it drag him wherever. He doesn’t have the energy to fight, not anymore.

Then there’s ground, suddenly, wet rocks under his hands, and Clint grabs at them with numb fingers, scrabbling his way onto them. He coughs up water, clinging to the solid surface with everything he’s got.

“Come on,” mutters a voice in his ear. “Not here.”

Hands wrap around his arms, dragging him to his feet with ease. Clint’s still coughing, trying to breathe and wipe his eyes and clear his lungs all at the same time. “What—“ he chokes out, stumbling after the insistent pressure on his arm.

He blinks his eyes open in time to be shoved to his knees on a damp expanse of stone. The hand lets go of his arm and starts working at the wet strap of his quiver. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“What?” Clint asks again, forcing his numb limbs to move. “Hey—stop—”

There’s a man in front of him, with long, tangled shoulder-length hair, and a furious expression in his dark eyes. “I’m trying to help you,” he snaps, freeing the quiver and tossing it aside. He goes for Clint’s jacket next, shoving it off and throwing it by the quiver. “You’re going to freeze to death, you idiot, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I—what?” Clint’s head is spinning.

The man yanks his shirt off next. It lands on the pile with a wet slap. “Jumping off a cliff like that,” he growls. “Do you have a death wish?” He shoves Clint down onto his ass, scowling the whole time.

“N-no,” Clint manages, suddenly shivering. “I—no—what are you doing—”

Tha man strips his boots and pants off with brutal efficiency, tossing them with the rest of Clint’s things before dragging him back to his feet. “You’re going to freeze to death,” he says again, pulling Clint further into the darkness. It must be a cave of some sort. The air is still cold, but the waves are more muffled, like they’re coming from a distance.

“W-w-who are you?” Clint asks, still trying to keep up with this turn of events. “How d-d-did you—”

Something rubs over his skin, drying him off with rough, brisk movement. Then the man shoves him down to the ground, and steps around him. A moment later, something soft hits Clint in the face. “Wrap up,” the man orders. “Now.”

Clint grabs at the soft thing—a blanket, he realizes—and gratefully wraps it around his shoulders. “Th-th-thank you,” he says, pulling it tighter.

There’s a grunt of acknowledgement. Then a flame bursts into being, and Clint covers his eyes, wincing at the sudden brightness of it. The man lowers it, catching a small pile of wood on fire. Clint scoots back a little bit, giving him space as he adds a couple more pieces of kindling.

“Get warm,” the man orders him, and Clint nods. The man disappears into the darkness again, heading back towards the mouth of the cave. He comes back a few moments later with Clint’s clothes, which he wrings out before draping them over a nearby rock. The quiver and dagger he examines with interest before setting them next to himself.

Then he turns to look at Clint, studying him with intense eyes. He’s shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of faded, patched trousers. “Why?”

“W-why what?”

“Why did you jump?”

Clint shrugs. He’s still shivering, but the blanket is helping, and the fire is seeping warmth into him. “N-no choice.”

That gets him a skeptical look. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Clint pulls the blanket tighter. “Who are you? H-how did you—”

“I’m asking the questions,” the man says, crossing his arms. One of them is silver, all the way up to his shoulder, the surface of it reflecting the firelight. “What was the other choice, if throwing yourself into the sea was the better option?”

“Torture and death?”

The man blinks. A furious expression crosses his face, an anger so intense that Clint thinks about running away. But then it’s gone, a curious blankness in its place. “I see.” He walks to the back of the cave, digging around somewhere Clint can’t see, then comes back and tosses something at his feet. “Drink.”

Clint grabs at the waterskin, grateful to wash the taste of the ocean out of his mouth. “Thank you.”

“What’s your name?”

Clint hesitates. Names are powerful things, he knows, and he doesn’t know anything about this guy—doesn’t even know if he’s human. Clint’s an idiot, but he knows better than to just give his name up—

“I can put you back out there,” the man says, raising an eyebrow, and Clint shudders. “Tell me your name.”

“What’s yours?” Clint challenges.

“Bucky. ”

Clint blinks. “Oh,” he says, a little surprised. “Uh.”

Bucky grins. “And you are…?”

“…Clint.”

“There, was that so hard?” He sits on the ground, leaning against the wall. “So who was threatening to torture you?”

Clint grimaces. “Just some people.”

“Tell me.”

“Why do you care?” Clint tugs the blanket closer. “Why did you save me?”

“Because I did. Why were they threatening you?”

“I stole some stuff from them. How are you so good at swimming?”

“Lots of practice. What did you steal?”

“They kidnapped some creatures and I set them free. Are you human?”

Bucky stares at him, shoulders suddenly tense. “Who were they?”

Clint takes another drink. “I don’t know their names.”

“No. The group of them. Did they have a name? A sigil? A symbol?”

“Uh.” He thinks for a moment. “They did, yeah.”

Bucky gets to his feet in one fluid motion. He disappears into the back of the cave for a moment, then comes back, thrusting a small gold ring in Clint’s face. “Did it look like this?”

Clint studies the ring. There’s a skull on it, with six tentacles emerging from it. Even here, in a cave far away from them, Clint can feel the evil emanating from it. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Bucky hisses, tucking the ring back into his hand. He mutters something in a guttural language that Clint doesn’t catch and sits down again, fury evident in every line of his body as he stares into the fire.

Clint watches warily, a little unsure. If this guy is one of them, he’s absolutely fucked. He’s in no shape to run away, and even if he could, he wouldn’t get far. He’d probably end up actually drowning.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a long silence. “If I…offended you.”

Bucky laughs bitterly. “You didn’t _offend_ me,” he says, and holds up the ring. “This group? They’re called Hydra. They specialize in buying and selling exotic creatures.”

“I know,” Clint says. “I set a bunch of them free. That’s why they were trying to kill me. I snuck into their camp and I freed everything they had. Almost got them all out before they caught me.”

“What did they have?”

“Wyverns, mostly. Some gnomes. A kappa. Oh, and a basilisk.” Clint motions to his quiver. “Can I see that? I should check on him.”

Bucky looks at it, then at him. “You…have a basilisk?”

“They were gonna kill him,” Clint says. “He’s just a baby, but he’s blinded. He wouldn’t have sold well. That’s why I got caught—I let all the others out, but I went back for this one.” He holds out a hand, and Bucky gives him the quiver. Clint unscrews the top and whistles long and low. After a moment, a green head pokes out of the container, a red tongue flickering as it tastes the air.

“Hey you,” Clint says, grinning. He whistles again, then rubs the top of its head. “Doing okay?”

The little snake hisses, then ducks back inside the quiver. Clint laughs and sets it closer to the fire., hoping the warmth will help. “That’s Egg,” he says to Bucky, who’s staring at him with wide eyes. “We’re buddies. I was traveling with another group for awhile, and they had him originally, then sold him to Hydra, which is how I met them. When Hydra realized that he was blind, they were gonna kill him and I—” He shrugs. “Anyway. They caught me trying to get him out, and I had to shove him in here and run for it. They chased me to the cliff, and then, well.” He waves a hand. “You saw the rest.”

“You stole a basilisk,” Bucky says slowly. “And you named him…Egg.”

“That’s what he likes to eat.” Clint taps the quiver, and Egg slithers out, tasting the air. Clint sticks a foot out of his blanket and the basilisk wraps around it, settling against Clint’s skin with a comfortable tightness. “What?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Never mind,” he says, looking torn between amusement and surprise.

Clint grins at him. “So how do you know about Hydra?”

A dark look comes over his face. “I was…with them. For awhile.”

Clint freezes. “You were working for them?”

“Not even close.” Bucky sighs and rubs his face, exhaustion suddenly written all over him. “I was part of their little menagerie.”

“You what?”

“You asked if I was human,” Bucky says. “The answer is no. I’m not. I’m a siren.”

“You—” Clint stares at him. “You’re—they’re extinct. They haven’t been seen in almost a hundred years.”

Bucky waves a hand. “We’re around. We just hide. Never used to be that way, but these days, with everyone out to make a profit—”

“Hydra grabbed you,” Clint says, suddenly understanding. “Is that what happened?”

Bucky nods grimly. “My arm—I hurt it as a child. My parents took me to the Sea Sorceress, and she was able to heal me, but it turned my arm silver. Which makes me unique.”

“And unique is valuable,” Clint mutters, recalling the conversation he’d overheard in the Hydra camp. “I’m sorry. How long were you with them?”

“Too long,” Bucky says. “Unfortunately, there weren’t any good-looking guys around to save me.”

Clint absently pets at Egg’s scales. “Sorry,” he says.

Bucky shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I escaped, almost a year ago. Now I’m free.” He gestures to the cave. “I live here, now.”

“Alone?”

He nods. “Don’t have anyone else.”

“No family?”

“Not here. Not anymore.” His eyes are sad, but there’s something in his tone that indicates there’s no room for discussion, so Clint doesn’t push it any further.

“Okay,” he says. “Uh. Thank you for rescuing me, by the way. That was—you know. Nice not to drown.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh, relaxing slightly. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I did—especially now that I know what kind of person you are.”

“You have no clue what kind of guy I am,” Clint says. “I—that was _one_ good thing. Trust me, I’m not—”

“You befriended a blind basilisk,” Bucky says. “And set a bunch of other creatures free, at risk to your own life—” He tilts his head, studying Clint across the fire. “I’ve been around a long time, Clint. I know what evil looks like. And I know a good man when I see one.”

Clint tightens his fingers on the blanket and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t agree, but there’s really no point in arguing. Not right now.

Bucky shrugs. “Anyway,” he says. “The storm’s gonna go on for awhile. You can stay here, if you want.” He gestures out at the water. “I mean. There’s really nowhere else for you to go until the storm passes.”

“Yeah, I don’t feel like taking another swim,” Clint says, trying for a smile. “One near-death experience per day, that’s my limit.”

Bucky laughs. “Do they happen a lot? Near-death experiences?”

“More than you’d think,” Clint sighs. “My life is _way_ too exciting at times.” He rubs his eyes. “This isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me, honestly. There was one time, in the forest, when I was running from some dwarves—”

“Why?”

“I…” Clint winces. “Accidentally stole one of their religious gems.”

“How did you—”

“Long story,” Clint says, waving a hand. “Anyway, it was in my bag, and they were chasing me, and I literally ran into a group of trolls. They saved me from the dwarves, which was nice, but then they were going to _eat_ me, which was less nice. I had to talk them out of it. You know how hard that is? Trolls don’t speak Common very well, and my Troll is…less than ideal.”

Bucky is grinning. “What did you tell them?”

“Oh, I convinced them I was a wizard. I did a couple magic tricks, real basic stuff. Blew their minds. They decided to keep me instead. It took me a week to escape them.”

Bucky shakes his head. “That sounds…wild.”

“It was a trip,” Clint agrees. “So really, today is just kind of another day, all things considered. I’m alive, anyway. Got that going for me.”

“Alive is a good thing to be,” Bucky agrees, stirring the fire. He rolls his shoulders and stretches his arm out, silver shining brightly in the firelight. Clint watches with interest, letting his eyes trail over the broad shoulders. It’s a nice view, really. Lots of muscles to look at.

Bucky smirks a little at him. “You’re staring.”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees, reaching down to pull Egg off his ankle. He tries to put him back in the quiver, but Egg just hisses at him and wraps around his wrist instead.

Bucky’s smirk gets wider. “Any particular reason?”

Clint shrugs. “You’re nice to look at.”

Bucky laughs and gets to his feet. “Good to know,” he says, and walks around the fire, offering a hand down to Clint. “Come on. You’ve had a day. You should probably sleep.”

Clint takes it, letting Bucky pull him to his feet. “Is that your way of getting me into bed?” he asks, and Bucky actually _blushes,_ visible even in the firelight. “Because you could just ask, you know. I’ll probably say yes.”

“Only probably?” He’s still blushing, but there’s an interested look in his eye now, and he’s studying Clint with a different kind of intensity than he was a moment ago.

“Okay, definitely,” Clint admits. “Also you saved my life, so…”

“You sleep with everyone who saves your life?”

“Of course not,” Clint says. “I didn’t sleep with the Trolls.”

Bucky laughs. “Alright. That’s fair.” He steps a little closer, then, right into Clint’s space, almost pressing against him. He’s shorter than Clint, but not by much, and there’s a certain _presence_ to him, an intensity that seems to take up a lot more than the physical space he’s occupying. Clint licks his lip, his mouth suddenly dry with anticipation.

“So,” Bucky says, voice low. “Do you want to?”

“Want to…” Clint echoes, his breath hitching a little bit as he suddenly remembers he’s naked underneath the blanket.

“Go to bed.”

“To sleep, or…”

“If you want, sure.” Bucky’s voice is colored with amusement. “But you were the one who was just staring.”

“You’re nice to look at,” Clint murmurs, his voice wavering a little as Bucky’s silver fingers trail over his chest, just at the edge of the blanket.

“So you said.” Bucky tugs slightly on the blanket, and Clint lets it slip down, falling from his shoulders to settle around his waist. His hand keeps moving, thumbing over a nipple, and he smirks as a soft sound falls from Clint’s mouth. “We don’t have to. If you don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to,” Clint says, biting back another whimper as Bucky repeats the motion.

“Good,” Bucky says, and he leans forward.

Clint’s no stranger to kissing people, but there’s something _different_ about this time. Bucky kisses with a single-minded intensity, pushing Clint back into the cave wall. There’s raw emotion in the way he clings to Clint, in the way his hands explore, sliding over whatever skin he can reach, like he’s desperate to touch as much as he can. Like he’s afraid Clint will melt away if he stops touching even for a second.

“Let me—” Clint murmurs against him, and Bucky pulls enough to give him some space, both of them breathing heavily. “Egg.”

“What?”

“Egg,” Clint says, holding up his wrist where the basilisk is curled around him. Bucky snorts out a laugh. “Let me put him away, hang on—”

He stumbles back over to his quiver, and it takes him a moment to coax the basilisk off, tucking him back into the tube.

“Okay,” he says, standing up. He leaves the blanket on the ground. “Where were we?”

“Going to bed,” Bucky says, and offers a hand. “Come on.”

 _Bed_ turns out to be a pile of blankets in the back of the cave, but Clint’s slept in worse places with worse company. He lets Bucky pull him down onto the pile, rolling until Bucky’s on top of him, straddling his waist and pinning his wrists by his head.

Clint grins up at him, pulling at his wrists just to feel the way Bucky’s fingers tighten around him. “Hi,” he says. “Come here often?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he says.

“Yeah,” Clint agrees. “You gonna kiss me?”

“In a moment.” Bucky’s eyes rove over him, skimming over scars and bruises. “I’m looking.”

“At?”

“You, you idiot.” Bucky presses his wrist down into the blanket, then trails his fingers down Clint’s chest. “You weren’t kidding about a life of adventure, were you?”

“I was not.” Clint’s breath stutters as Bucky thumbs over a scar down the center of his chest. “They’ve all got stories.”

“Most scars do,” Bucky murmurs, leaning down.

This kiss is softer, a little less insistent. More of an exploration than anything else, just two people trying to figure each other out. Clint settles his hands at Bucky’s waist, thumbing over the edges of the trousers. “Take these off,” he murmurs, and Bucky nods, kissing him one more time.

There’s a hesitant look in his eye as he tosses them to the side, and he flexes his fingers, suddenly looking unsure. “I…” he starts, then pauses, biting his lip.

“You okay?” Clint asks, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Yeah.” Bucky brushes his hair out of his face. “I’m—it’s been awhile, that’s all.”

“We don’t have to,” Clint offers. “We can—I don’t know. We can just be here. Together. I don’t—”

“I want to,” Bucky says. “I’m just—I haven’t—not since before Hydra, and then I was alone—”

Clint reaches for him, tugging him back down onto the blanket. “It’s alright,” he says. “We’ll take it slow.”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, and he lets Clint pull him into a kiss.

It’s been a long time for Clint, too. Not in terms of sex, but just for this—this slow, lazy kissing, more about being together than pursing an end goal. It’s nice to just _hold_ someone, to be with them. Bucky is warm and solid against him, a heavy weight pressing him down into the blankets. Time seems to slow around them, the moments stretching out inexorably as they kiss and kiss and kiss until Clint’s nearly breathless with it.

Bucky’s hand slides down his arm, and Clint shivers as claws scrape over his skin. “What—” he says, breaking the kiss and picking his head up.

“Sorry,” Bucky murmurs, looking sheepish. “I’m—it’s hard to control sometimes.” He holds up his hand, displaying a set of pointed claws, shimmery and blue.

“Don’t be sorry,” Clint says. “I like it. It’s kinda sexy.”

“It’s—wait, really?”

“I’m into it.” Clint reaches over and tugs his hand back down. “I don’t mind, honest.”

“Good to know,” Bucky says, and leans down to kiss him again, biting at Clint’s lower lip. It’s not hard enough to draw blood, but it’s enough to make Clint gasp. “Got fangs too, how do you feel about that?”

“Even better,” Clint says, smiling at the odd look that crosses over Bucky’s face. “What?”

“You’re the first person to say that,” Bucky admits. “Kinda freaks most people out.”

“I’m not most people.”

“That’s for sure.”

Clint reaches up, drags his thumb over Bucky’s bottom lip. “Can I see?”

Bucky grins, and in the flickering of the firelight, Clint can see the hint of sharpened teeth. It sets his pulse racing, excitement thrumming through him. “Do you drink blood?”

“No,” Bucky snorts. “The hell kinda question is that?”

“I don’t know,” Clint says, letting his hand drop. “Last thing I saw with fangs was a vampire, so…”

“I don’t drink blood,” Bucky says. “Promise.”

“Do you bite?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Clint whispers, unable to hide the way his pulse jumps as Bucky leans down, scraping his teeth over Clint’s neck. “Yeah—fuck—”

“Like that?” Bucky murmurs, and does it again, grinning as Clint lets out a high-pitched whimper, hips rolling up into him.

“Yeah,” he says again, the word coming out in a slur. He feels hazy, almost, still lost in the way time is stretching out around them. “Yeah, gods, that’s perfect—”

Bucky lets out a dark laugh. “You’re something else,” he murmurs, sitting up a little bit. His skin almost seems to glimmer in the firelight, a slight, shimmery tint to it. Clint reaches up with one hand, pressing his hand against Bucky’s chest. The skin _ripples_ when he touches it, like there’s a faint sheen of scales just below the surface.

“You’re beautiful,” Clint murmurs, dragging his fingertips down, watching the ripples fly outward from its touch.

Bucky stares at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, like he can’t quite believe what’s actually happening. “You like this?”

“What’s not to like?” Clint does it again, utterly fascinated by the shimmers. “You’re pretty.”

“Pretty,” Bucky repeats.

“Yeah.” Clint pokes him in the chest. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“You say it different,” Bucky says. “Like—like you _mean_ it.”

“I do mean it,” Clint says, propping up on one elbow. “I—of course I mean it, why wouldn’t I?”

“I just—” Bucky shakes his head. “Never heard it like that before. Like you—I don’t know.” He shivers. “They’d call me that, in Hydra, but it was always…slimy.”

“I get that,” Clint says, thinking about the conversations he’d overheard. “They were terrible people.”

Bucky snorts. “Understatement of the year.” He looks down at Clint, an unreadable well of emotions in his eyes. “So. We doing this?”

“Romantic,” Clint says, and Bucky snorts again. “Yeah. You wanna fuck me? I mean—I’m good the other way, but you said it’s been awhile, and that seems...easiest.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs, looking a little relieved at the thought. “Okay. Yeah, that would be best.”

“Cool.” Clint looks over to where his clothes are drying on the rock. “Hang on, I got—“He scrambles to his feet and stumbles over to his pants, patting around. “Unless I lost it in—nope, here it is.”

“Here’s what?”

“Oh, I found this a while back, actually. I was helping this team of people clear out a gorgon cave, and in one of the rooms was this.” He holds up the little vial. “They called it oil of slipperiness? Works really well for a whole bunch of things. Including this.” He tosses it at Bucky.

“What do you do for a living?” Bucky asks, a smile tugging at his mouth as he catches it. “Seriously.”

“Acquisitions,” Clint says, coming back over. “I, uh. Procure things.”

Bucky laughs. “You steal stuff.”

“Yeah.” Clint shrugs. “Problem with that?”

“Not at all. Get back over here.”

Clint gets back over there, letting Bucky push him down onto his back. “You’re pretty too,” he says, pressing a kiss to Clint’s chest, right over the scar. “Just so you know.”

“I do know,” Clint says, nonchalantly folding his arms behind his head, but he can’t hide the way his face flushes at the praise, the warmth spreading down his skin. Bucky clearly doesn’t miss it either, chasing the pink skin with his mouth. He bites once, drawing a high-pitched whine out of Clint as he arches into the touch, hands moving to grab at the blankets.

“Do that again,” Bucky demands, head snapping up, eyes dark.

“You first,” Clint manages, his voice wavering. “You— _ahhhh_ —”

Bucky grins at him, the fangs even more prominent, and goes lower, leaving a trail of biting kisses. Clint’s practically gasping by the time he’s settled between Clint’s legs, although he has enough presence of mind to prop up a little and says, “Don’t bite that.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Bucky says, fangs scraping over Clint’s hipbone instead. “Relax, pretty boy. I got you.”

Clint makes some kind of noise halfway between a whimper and a moan and falls back against the blanket, panting up at the cave ceiling. “Gods,” he mutters, almost reverently.

“No gods here,” Bucky says. “Just you and me.”

“Bucky,” Clint says in the same tone, and Bucky flashes a dark grin before lowering his head, tongue just barely teasing over Clint’s dick. “Aw, _fuck_ —”

Bucky hums around him, hands sliding up Clint’s legs, moving them a little further apart. Clint gasps a little as a finger slides into him, slippery and cool— _claws_ , Clint suddenly thinks, but he doesn’t feel anything, and a moment later decides he doesn’t really care anyway. Bucky won’t hurt him.

“Feel good?” Bucky asks, sliding a second finger into him. His right hand skims up Clint’s leg again, gripping the muscle there, tracing over a scar Clint got as a kid.

Clint nods and reaches down for him. He smooths his hand over Bucky’s hair, carefully winding his fingers into it. He doesn’t want to pull, or force, just needs the touch of it to ground himself. Bucky’s taking him apart so thoroughly, eyes focused on Clint the whole time, listening intently for every little sound and huff of breath. It’s all Clint can do to stay present, barely keeping his head above the wave of sensations.

“Gonna— _fuck_ —make me come,” he says, nearly biting through his lip as Bucky does something infernal with his tongue, looking pleased at the punched-out moan it gets him. “I want you to fuck me—”

“Mmm,” Bucky says, sounding almost unconcerned at the thought, and then his fingers twist _just right_ , and Clint’s pretty sure the entire world hears him yell in response, back arching up as he tries to writhe into and away from the sensation. Bucky just pins him in place and does it again, a wicked grin on his face as Clint squirms under him.

“Please,” Clint gasps, hands winding into the blankets again. His vision is blurring, and he blinks the tears away, desperate to see everything, he doesn’t want to miss a single second of this. “Bucky, come _on_ —“

“I’m taking my time with you,” Bucky tells him. “I’ve learned to take my time with good things.”

“Next time,” Clint grits out, and there’s a brief flash of surprise on Bucky’s face. “Next time, I promise, can you please just—”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and his voice is rougher now, lower, like his own self-control is wavering. He swallows hard, eyes fixed on Clint’s face. “Okay.”

He slicks himself up in a quick motion and pulls Clint into a better position. Then he’s easing into Clint, a slow, steady press that feelings fucking _amazing_ , stretching and filling him up perfectly. Clint whines as Bucky settles into him, deep as he can go.

There’s a moment where Clint just looks up at him. Bucky’s eyes are bright, his cheeks flushed with that blue tint, and he’s looking down like Clint’s the best thing he’s ever seen, all wide-eyed wonder and amazement. Clint’s breath hitches in a sob, and he’s not sure if it’s from the tender expression on Bucky’s face, or the way he’s slowly rolling his hips, settling himself in little motions. Probably both, if he’s honest.

Clint hooks his legs around Bucky’s waist, reaches up for him. “Kiss me,” he demands, and Bucky does, leaning down as he grinds forward, silencing Clint’s answering moan in a heated kiss.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, following it up with something in a guttural language that Clint can’t understand, but absolutely loves. “ _Look_ at you.”

“Bucky,” Clint whispers, kissing him again. “Bucky, please—”

Please what, he doesn’t know. There’s too much happening, and he can hardly breathe, lost as he is in the kissing and the closeness and the cool skin pressed against him. Bucky’s shimmering is even brighter now, like he’s losing control just as much as Clint is. His skin ripples at every touch, sparkling threads woven in with the blue tint, as if each individual scale is outlined in gold. It’s incredible, Clint doesn’t understand how Bucky can say _Clint’s_ the beautiful one when Bucky looks like _this_ —

“Please,” he says again. “ _Bucky_.”

“I got you,” Bucky murmurs, reverent and breathless, and he starts moving. More of a slow grind than anything else, somehow sweet and sinful at the same time. Clint tightens his legs and tries to rock up to meet him, moaning when he gets the angle just right. There’s a flash of lightning, a roar of thunder, and Clint’s not sure if it’s from the raging storm outside or from the way Bucky’s rolling into him—one thing furious, one thing gentle, but both producing the same result.

“Fuck,” Clint chokes out, tugging Bucky closer, burying his face in the tensing muscles of his shoulders. “Bucky.”

“Clint,” Bucky mutters back, sounding just as ruined. He’s sucking slow kisses onto Clint’s neck, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin. Clint whimpers at each one, clinging to Bucky like he’s the only thing keeping him afloat. He’s drifting now, lost in sensations, unable to think about anything except the way Bucky’s taking him apart, shattering him perfectly with every slow undulation of his hips.

Then Bucky’s moving, arms wrapping around Clint and pulling him upright. Clint clings to him, arms and legs wrapped around him as Bucky easily pulls them into a different position, his cock so deep inside that Clint can hardly _breathe_ —

“Alright?” Bucky asks, rocking up into him, and Clint nods, words too far gone at this point. It’s more than alright, it’s the best thing Clint’s ever felt. They’re even closer like this, so intimate and tangled up that Clint can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

Bucky holds him upright easily, his other hand dipping lower, barely ghosting his fingertips where Clint is stretched out around him. The sensation of his cool fingers against Clint’s heated skin is too much, and Clint tightens around him, fingers digging into Bucky’s back as he comes. There’s sparks all up and down his skin, little individual lightning strikes of their own, lighting him up from the inside out. A wrecked whimper escapes him as he buries his face into Bucky’s shoulder, shuddering through the orgasm.

Bucky comes a moment later, making his own little choked noise as he holds onto Clint, slowly rolling into him. Every motion draws a small gasp out of Clint, his strung-out nerves making everything that much more intense.

They stay like that for a long time, holding onto each other until their breathing returns to something resembling normalcy. The storm is still raging outside, but it’s distant, almost muted. Everything feels muted, in a way, and the only thing that Clint’s sure is real is the solid press of Bucky’s arms around him.

“I’m really glad I jumped off that cliff,” he eventually says, and Bucky huffs out a tired laugh.

“I’m glad I saved you,” he murmurs, tipping his head up. Clint kisses him, slow and languid.

“Why did you?” he asks after a moment. “Save me.”

“You called for help,” Bucky says with a slight shrug. “And I was there.”

“Well, thank you,” Clint says, pushing as much sincerity into the words as he can.

“I think I got the better end of the deal.” Bucky hitches his hips up, a tiny motion that makes Clint take a sharp breath. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

Clint would normally roll his eyes at something like that, but there’s a surprising amount of emotion underneath those words, and he thinks Bucky might actually mean it. “Glad I could help,” is all he says, and Bucky nods before kissing him again.

They reluctantly separate, cleaning themselves up and stoking the fire for more light. Clint opens the quiver and pulls out Egg, letting the basilisk wrap around his wrist.

“What happened to the arrows?” Bucky asks, nodding at it. “Or is this what you use it for?”

Clint scowls. “Used the last of ‘em in a fight, and then Hydra’s got my bow.” He looks down at his wrist. “It was either grab Egg or grab that. I can always get another bow, but I can’t get another Egg, you know?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He holds out his hand. “Can I?”

“Sure,” Clint says. He whistles, a little higher-pitched this time, then nudges his wrist against Bucky’s. “He can’t see, so I just whistle to let him know I’m doing stuff. Don’t want him to bite.”

After a moment, Egg uncurls from Clint’s wrist and slides over, wrapping around Bucky’s skin with a little hiss. Bucky’s face lights up at that, and Clint can’t help but grin back. “You made a friend,” he says, patting Bucky’s other arm. “Good job. And good luck ever prying him off, by the way.”

Bucky laughs and goes back over to his blanket pile, settling down on them with a relaxed air. “Come to bed,” he says, patting the spot next to him. “Storm’s gonna be going on for awhile.”

“Do you have a tail when you’re in the water?” Clint asks, crawling onto the blankets. They settle close to each other, Egg still happily settled around Bucky’s arm.

Bucky laughs again. “Yeah,” he says. “And some other tricks. I’ll show you tomorrow, deal?”

“Deal.”

“I still can’t believe you like the fangs,” Bucky mutters, half-amused. “No one likes the fangs.”

“I like every part of you,” Clint says, poking him. “Fangs and all.”

“Good to know.” Bucky squirms as Egg slithers up his arm, moving to curl up on his chest. Clint laughs and scoots closer, tangling their legs together.

“I wasn’t kidding,” he says. “About there being a next time.”

“Storms don’t last forever,” Bucky murmurs, staring at the ceiling.

Clint shrugs. “I don’t have anywhere urgent to be.” He pokes Bucky’s ribs. “Besides, I’m the best thing that’s happened to you in a long time. You think I’m letting go of an ego boost like that? You’re stuck with me, now.”

Maybe it’s not a smart thing to say. Clint never knows what’s happening from day to day. He can’t promise tomorrow, let alone any kind of future. But he says it anyway, impulses taking over, because he wants to soothe away the worried look in Bucky’s eyes, the melancholy tone in his voice. Thinking before he acts has never been his strong suit, but somehow Clint thinks that this time, it’s not going to get him in trouble. Not with the way Bucky is looking at him, like he hung the stars in the sky, like Clint’s everything he never quite let himself hope he’d have.

“Really?” he asks, voice hushed, as if saying it louder will make it untrue.

“Really,” Clint says, and the answering smile is almost blinding. Bucky presses a kiss to his forehead, soft and sweet, and pulls hims a little closer.

“I’m glad you jumped off that cliff too,” he whispers, and Clint smiles back at him as he drifts off to sleep, feeling secure and safe for the first time in months.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)


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